As We All Say
by Claret Thylacine
Summary: A collection of 3 short summaries involving Spain and America. Most of them are centered or involve the Revolutionary War, and there are subtle hints at USUK/UKUS. But it's mainly Spamerica. A bit dramatic at times, but not too depressing.


**Hello!**

**I think I have kind of given up on Spamano. I mean, it's a good pairing, but SPAMERICA. OMFG they're perfect together.**

**So, I went to look up some Spain/America fanfictions and art online, but I could find close to nothing! When I typed up "Spamerica Hetalia" in the search bar, it came out as "America Hetalia" instead. Grrr!**

**Just because this couple doesn't get enough love, I've written a oneshot for this couple. And, well, the description's above. There is no lemon, but there are hints at sex. Slight USUK/UKUS**

**Enjoy! Letters written in _italics _are Spanish.**

**Current word count: 3,302**

* * *

As we all say; the past is history, and, like all experiences that jump from one plight to the next, is impossible to change.

That is what was written in his beryl eyes, and seeming to be permanently etched on that wide, friendly face. Though, admittedly, Alfred's face was not at all kind or cheery today.

No, the only emotion Spain can see, can _feel_ that stays with his _amigo_ is pain, hurt, guilt. And sadness, too. Terrible, terrible waves of misery so unfit and so foreign to one such as America.

"W-what? _América_, please, you can't possibly be serious—"

Alfred cut a now very pale Spain off with a wave of his hand, and a tiny smile that does not reach his grim eyes. "I am, Spain. Really. I'm strong enough for this. I just know it. Believe me, I'm not any happier about this than you are, England…he's my brother, and he always will be, but I have to do this.

"You understand." America's quiet voice grew even softer; so much so that it almost seemed gentle. Spain saw right through it.

Spain bit down on his lower lip hard like he always did when he grew nervous. Yes, he knew exactly what America meant. He could even empathize with the younger country; he himself had gone through horrible, bloodied wars and secessions. Spain had found America, and he knew exactly how Alfred would react to England's new laws and taxations.

Antonio, unlike Arthur, knew just what America's limitations were, and where to draw the line.

And Spain had warned England. He had told the stubborn blonde country not to push his luck with Alfred, even if he had raised him. War made countries do awful things, they could not control it, and the same rules applied to both America and England. Unlike what a certain British man thought…

A hand on his shoulder. Trying his very best not to fiddle with his thumbs, Spain looked up.

"Spain," Alfred said, staring intensely into the Spaniard's dark eyes. Antonio internally shivered. It was so odd and so different to have America look at him like that. Spain had a few inches on America when it came to height, and that usually childish and carefree face did not clash well with this new, serious one.

There was a certain thickness in the air as America spoke. His words barely made their way to Spain's ears.

"I will declare independence from England July 4th. That is my date, and I do not plan on changing it." America hesitated, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself like he did when he was only a child. It was habit after so many years of hard winter. He only did it to remind himself of the mother he once lost, to be replaced with the father he never had.

The blonde country started to shake slightly, and Spain, out of pure brotherly aptitude gained after many years of raising Romano, instantly rushed to embrace America. Alfred dug his head into Spain's chest, and he choked out, "I-I want to know that you're going to be with me all the way through, Antonio. I don't know what France or Canada will think of this, and I'm just…I'm scared, Spain! England was like my brother, and I don't want to destroy our relationship over a couple of stupid tax payments!"

Finally losing his self-control, America's cheeks started to wet as fat, transparent tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. He clutched at Spain's formerly pristine white button-up shirt, (now beginning to stain with tears) and wrapped his arms weakly around the other's middle.

This behavior seemed to stun Antonio into stillness for a moment, but only for a moment. Cooing softly, he pulled the boy, that adorable little country he had found all alone in The New World, before England had soon followed suite and claimed America as his own, deeply into his chest, rubbing comforting circles in his thickly-clothed back.

"_Mi cielo_," Spain murmured as soothingly as possible, resting his chin on Alfred's blonde head, "do not fret. Through as many years and wars as people like us will go through in our never-ending lifetime, there will always be love. There will always be forgiveness to be found if you look in the right place. England will always care deeply for you, Alfred. You will always be forever his, as he is forever yours. It matters not what experiences may plague you, but only what you make of them."

Spain put a sad little smile on his face and took hold of America's chin, making the younger look up at him through tear-filled eyes.

A sort of deep affection pulsed through Antonio's veins as he gently wiped those ugly tears away from an angel's face. "I will never leave you. After all the wars and the blood and the hate, you will always find your friends by your side.

"_Do what you believe is right._"

There was only a single nod in response.

* * *

The aftermaths of the Revolutionary War had shook Alfred badly.

Just moments not long after all the notes and the paperwork and the inner-country relations had been dealt with, the entirety of America had concerned themselves with nothing but private (or not) celebrations of the finest splendor, and drowning the bitterness of the past war in various assortments of rye, beer, and only the finest wine France had to offer.

All except for one colonist.

Even though America had gained what he had wanted, what his people craved for, through all the fake smiles and cries of victory, Spain again saw that overwhelming, poorly hidden grief. And knowing what America must be suffering through, (Spain couldn't even begin to comprehend having to disown Romano or North Italy) it killed Antonio. He wanted to see that face happy and free again, not so terribly hardened and somber.

One blue night as America stood out the back patio of his newly granted luxurious two-story, (a gift for his hard work in serving his country, the general had said) Spain reached out to him once more.

Over the last few weeks, America had grown very weary of human touch and contact, so the minute he felt the warmth of another so close to him, so near that the heat almost touched the bare nape of his neck, it succeeded in breaking him from his stupor by nearly giving him a heart-attack.

"S-spain!" America gasped, turning around and clutching at his heart with wide eyes. He relaxed slightly after a moment, but at a cost. He felt his face flush slightly at the dark-haired Spaniard's amused smile.

Returning back to his recent self after a few second's time, America asked blandly, but still a tiny bit shaken, "What do you want? I haven't seen you since the start of the war. Do you have news?"

Antonio looked upon America with a concerned expression at the other's coldness. He shook his head and strode over to lean against the pole beside a mildly flustered American. He started to play with his hands as he felt Alfred's steady gaze on him.

"No, no news, America. It's just me coming to visit. I just wanted to check up on you. You know…to make sure you were doing alright.

"You are doing fine, aren't you, _amigo_?" Spain asked quietly, turning his eyes from the star-strewn heavens to the boy now standing mutely at his side.

America seemed to consider the question for a moment as he shifted uncomfortably; such uncertainty was so odd for him. He was the honorable hero, after all.

"Yeah. I'm okay, Spain. Look, I really am sorry for being so distant lately, but really, you didn't have to come and check up on me. I'm perfectly fine. See, no war scars, or anything!" At these last words, America gave an unexpected half-grin and spread his arms wide as if to prove that he was clean of any marks. The show of softness hit Antonio by surprise, (America could change personalities so quickly when he wanted to) and as the velvety light shone one every inch of Alfred's skin and his indeed flawless body, Spain felt his face go red.

America was beautiful.

It felt odd to think that, and Spain bet it would have felt even stranger actually saying it aloud, but it was true.

The way his usually tan skin shone pearly in the dark.

The way that tussled blonde was forever falling in unbelievably blue, blue eyes.

Those soft looking, pink lips.

And that smile he so missed…

"So…" America, _Alfred_, said nonchalantly, snapping Spain from his thoughts. "How've you been lately? Everything going fine in Europe?"

"Er…y-yeah. Pretty good after a couple of quarrels with the trio, but, other than that, nothing serious."

Spain stumbled over his next words, but he made absolutely sure to keep his business expression held as tightly together as possible. "But, America, you're sure you're absolutely fine? You can tell me if anything's wrong. I'm here now, and I'll always be just a call away."

Now smiling softly, America scooted a bit closer to Spain, but he was still wary to keep space in between them. America gently pushed his shoulder playfully into Spain's. "Truly. I'm glad I did what I did. It feels kind of weird being an independent country now, but I think I like it. Ever since The Rev. I've grown particularly fond of freedom and justice."

America punched at the air with rather a repressed amount of his usual spunk, and in a much lower voice, he stretched, back arching in a bridge, (Spain kept getting redder and redder) and said, "But I really am glad you were there, Spain. I haven't really gotten the chance to talk to you lately, what with everything that's happened, but I just wanted to say...thanks. I couldn't have done it without you."

And with that, Alfred clapped Antonio firmly on the shoulder and turned back towards the open doors of his new home. That is, until he felt a sweaty, warm hand clamp tightly around his wrist like a steel trap. Mildly stunned, but not really particularly worried or nervous, America turned again to be met with a pair of wide jade eyes, and a very, very flushed face.

"W-wait, _América_!" Spain gasped, and loosened his hold on the younger, now curious blonde-haired country. The right words momentarily stuck in Spain's mouth, and he, for the first time in many years, could think of nothing to say. "I have something to tell you!" America's expression grew even more in wonderment. Now was his big chance... "Romano has grown now, and he, um, he's having, I mean, _we're _celebrating his official announcement as South Italy with a fiesta. You know, like a birthday with North Italy. You...do you want to come by for the celebration? It's just that you've seemed so alone lately, that I thought maybe this could cheer you up!"

America gave Spain an odd look, and Antonio mentally slapped himself as hard as his imagination would allow.

_A birthday party? Did I seriously just ask out el amor de mi vida __to a children's festival? What's wrong with me?_

_Idiot!_

Unexpectedly, startlingly, (this was, after all, not the expression Spain had expected to receive) Alfred beamed at Antonio.

"Wow, really? You want me to come? Sure, I'll tag along; I love going to parties! Thanks again!"

America laughed loudly like his old self, and asked excitedly, eyes sparkling with a light so rare in the past months, "How old is South going to be? You said he's an adult by now, and I can only remember meeting him once, so I need to know what I should get him. 'Ya feel me?"

Again, that exact same boiling anxiousness flooded Spain's sense as he answered a bit more than awkwardly, "He'll be about 20. And he likes tomatoes a lot, and turtles, too. I think he does, anyway.

"I mean, I think he likes turtles!" Spain babbled incoherently, expression turning worried. He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of someone like Alfred, but he was still concerned of making sure Romano had a special enough present for something so big as entering manhood.

"But," Antonio said quickly as America started to smother his growing laughter into his own sleeve, "I_ know_ he likes tomatoes and food. But especially tomatoes!" Spain's grip grew tighter, and his hands found themselves roaming upwards to America's lower arms.

Smiling, America nodded his head once, and just as he was going to ask Spain the date for Romano and assure that he would be there, he felt an arm wrap itself securely around his waist, and push him into a heated chest. The action stunned Alfred into a deathly silence, but Spain's next words would have shocked him even more if he had been able to speak Spanish.

"Dios nos ayude a todos, ¡Te quiero!"

Then, before Alfred could register it, even _comprehend_ it, there were lips, soft, moist ones against his own. There was a beet-red face pushing hungrily up against his own. There were eyes, almost as shockingly green as England's, that would have stared into the depths of his soul if they had been open.

Spain was kissing him.

And then it was over just as quickly as it had started. Spain, breathless and tanned skin not even visible beneath his all-consuming blush, hesitantly pulled back, and his already large eyes widened unbelievably to breaking point.

"Gah! Lo siento mucho! No quise hacer eso, yo lo juro! Por favor, perdóname..."

Spain could not find it in his abilities to speak English at a time like this, but he did not need to. America found his next actions shocking even to himself, but once he had started he did not stop, and it was nothing Spain would complain about.

America returned Spain's affections with his own show, and pressed his own lips cautiously to Antonio's. There was great hesitancy at first, but at the sound of tiny moans and hands previously slung around his middle now swaddled tightly on his waist, Alfred deepened the kiss further. Antonio very happily complied.

The night seemed perfect, and Spain would have been able to stay that way forever if not for the unbearable burning and heat streaming through Alfred's body into his own. Being a bit rougher than was necessary, he secured his grip on America so as not to hurt him, and flipped him down beneath him on the ground, hands moving up and lifting the other's shirt all the while.

"S-spain," America groaned while Spain worked on his jaw and neck. Spain shushed him as he pressed all of his body weight on the blonde. His voice grew husky and, regaining his old romantic confidence, he whispered in America's ear, "Quite, mi querido. Let me do the work."

Nodding, Alfred gasped and tightened his hold on Spain.

In the utter darkness, arms protectively around each other's waists, they found their solitude broken.

* * *

"Hey, America!" England shouted, waving one hand wildly up in the air to gain the young country's attention. "Would you come over here, please? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

America rolled his eyes and ignored the Englishman's calls before he rang out again. "And it's a bit important, you dunce! So if you wouldn't mind, could you be quicker!"

Sighing over-dramatically, America turned to a cheery-as-usual Spain, and winked at him, though he still looked annoyed. "Sorry, Spain, but it looks like Artie's in one of those moods again, and, well, you know him... So, would you mind if I moved out for just a second? It'd be short."

Spain smiled slightly at the way Alfred's cheeks puffed up whenever he became annoyed; it was always so cute, like The Italian Twins in their fluffy little dresses. He nodded, eyes closing. "_Sí, Amigo. _And don't worry about upsetting me; take as much time as you'd like.

"I did need to be leaving soon, anyway," Spain finished, taking a quick glance at his thin watch. "I'll see you some other time."

America still looked a tiny bit upset, maybe thinking he had upset the Spaniard in some way, but he nevertheless thanked Spain and stood from his chair and took his time in pacing towards a rather annoyed British. Antonio smiled softly. Alfred wasn't cute like he used to be back in the good old days; he was handsome.

After their night together so long ago, Spain and America had forged their own private alliance, but, like any other international agreement, it did not last. England had come to America one day maybe about a few months after the Revolutionary War had ended, and he had expressed his remorse with America. At first Alfred was exceedingly cold and aloof toward the older, more experienced nation, but over time they did rebuild their old bonds.

Alfred, wanting to have his knowledgeable brother back. To gain that same love he had once had with somebody precious to him.

Arthur, wishing with all his heart that somebody he had held his feelings for so long would finally come to realize his true affections. He did not want Alfred as just a brother anymore.

It was painfully obvious that America did not see (it would be a miracle if he ever did) England's real feelings for him, and Spain was well aware of this fact, and although he did sometimes find himself glaring at England at meetings from across the room, he did nothing to sway America's affections from or to him or Arthur.

Having many, many years of experience with his lovers, Antonio always found it was much simpler and much easier never to force your love on a partner. He wanted Alfred happy, even if that meant taking something away from himself that made him content, too.

The days had grown longer and more strained, and Alfred did leave him and their fragile relationship eventually, but Antonio's love had lived on. America had shown what could have been thought of as favoritism towards England, and, being so, so far away from Spain both spiritually and physically, Spain was left in the dark.

He loved Romano, and he loved North Italy and even France and Belgium as his family, but none of the latter ever did succeed in catching his heart like America did.

Smiling warmly, Spain looked on the scene with England and his America before gathering the large brown coat hanging serenely from his chair. He stood slowly and stretched out his knotted muscles exhaustedly, and a sudden thought struck him. England and America fight like a married couple. All the signs were there.

_I wonder if they ever will be_, Spain thought consciously. _Now that would be interesting._

Spain gave one last tiny grin before turning his back on the other two men in the room, and whistled like his usual merry self before opening the café door, and shutting it gently behind him.


End file.
